


The Best of Us

by JointExisting



Series: J's Writing Practice Short Stories [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Adorable Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25822300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JointExisting/pseuds/JointExisting
Summary: Inhaling deeply to settle the butterflies in his stomach, Peter raised his eyes to the door. Beyond it was Tony’s greatest treasure. His heart hurt at the thought, inclined to just walk away, but he hadn’t introduced himself—and Tony would want him to; he’d want him to see her, even if the moment wasn’t wholly opportunistic, and even if Peter felt dead on his feet.He had to see her. He had to meet Tony’s daughter.Peter meets Morgan for the first time, Pepper for the second time, and Tony for the last time.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: J's Writing Practice Short Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1873600
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	The Best of Us

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to practice writing kids' interactions, and it became this oops. Enjoy

Peter paused at the door in front of him, easing a pressured breath from his dusted lungs. Beneath him, the gradual winding down of the party had begun and, with every passing minute he stood in the arched hallway, he heard goodbyes and sorrys being murmured between occupant and guest. A toast was declared, but no one rose to it.

Toasts had been declared all through the day and into the night, and Peter was becoming surer it was Thor’s way of drowning his sorrows without committing to them.

Inhaling deeply to settle the butterflies in his stomach, Peter raised his eyes to the door. Beyond it was Tony’s greatest treasure. His heart hurt at the thought, inclined to just walk away, but he hadn’t introduced himself—and Tony would want him to; he’d want him to see her, even if the moment wasn’t wholly opportunistic, and even if Peter felt dead on his feet.

He had to see her. He had to meet Tony’s daughter.

Walking up to the door, Peter raised his hand to knock his knuckles against the dark wood and then leant forwards to listen intently for her—he didn’t hear soft snores, or even, sleeping breaths, so he figured she was awake despite the exhausting nature of the day. Knocking again, just to be sure, Peter pressed the door handle down with the heel of his hand and, on the faint _click_ , he pushed it open to peer inside.

The room was awash with colour—docile purples, cobalt blues, excitable yellows and dusty maroons—and adorned with toys from catalogues and the workshop alike; smiling bears and racing cars, princesses and action figures. Peter stepped on to the plush carpet, pleased he’d removed his shoes before walking upstairs, and breathed in the woodiness of the house, but here – in Morgan’s room – there was something else; lavender, maybe, and mint. He smiled.

“Peter?”

Peter turned to his right and was immediately greeted with sharp, intelligent eyes. “That’s me,” he replied, his clamorous eagerness replaced by sage-like solitude for the life ahead of him. He dipped his head towards her. “Mind if I turn on a light here?”

“Go ahead, Peter.”

Raising a hand to the nightlight, Peter pulled the cord and the room dappled over with stars from the carefully cut pockets in the shade. He drew in a breath at the sight and shook his head, closing his dropped mouth with another smile. “Just like him,” he muttered, lost in his memories, marvelling at the sight. “Just like Tony.”

“Peter.” Morgan drew his attention back to her instantly, her big eyes glinting in the very same way her father’s had when he looked at something practically fascinating.

Keening at the thought, crestfallen, Peter replied, “Yeah, Morgan. I’m Peter.”

She raised her hands to her mouth in a childish gasp. “You know my name! But you don’t know me?”

He laughed, wringing his hands. “Of course I know your name, Morgan,” he said to her, soft and quiet, listening intently for anyone’s steps on the staircase. Pepper had warned him off speaking to Morgan tonight, and if she found him keeping her awake—well. Pepper was not a woman Peter wanted to upset. “But I guess you’re right: I don’t know you.”

Morgan frowned, sticking out her bottom lip. She pushed down her covers, brushed invisible lint off her pyjama shorts, and sat up. A secret smile came to her expression suddenly, and Peter was struck by how much cheekiness it promised. “But I know _you_.”

“You do?” Peter asked, feeling stupid.

“Yeah!” Morgan grappled with her bed-bound toys, correcting them. “You’re from the picture!”

“The picture?” Peter blinked at her, the light casting false shadows under Morgan’s brilliant eyes. “Which picture, Morgan?” He thought back to each room of the cabin, to taking his time during the aftermath of the funeral to go around and look at everything, to piece together the life Tony had built during the Snap Years. At the mention of this mysterious photo, Peter re-imagined his wandering, but he couldn’t recall having seen one photo of himself around the house.

He’d felt a bit dejected at the fact, but not surprised. Tony had looked broken on Titan, holding him in those final moments; why would he have kept a photo around to remind him? It was, perhaps, selfish, but Peter liked to think he mattered to Tony enough to have warranted a reaction.

Morgan looked at him with impatience, and then her lips lifted with a haughty smile – the type of smile that said _I know something you don’t!_ “The photo in the kitchen—the one Daddy always cleans and looks at really sadly.” She stared at Peter, crossing her arms. “He, he speaks to you, like, all the time.”

“Did he?” Peter replied, his heart lifting as his stomach sunk, feeling tears prick his eyes at Morgan’s use of present tense. “Wow. That’s nice—So, you know who I am, then?”

“Uh-huh,” Morgan said knowledgably, smiling widely up at him. “You’re coming to live with us now, right?”

Peter, bemused, drew back a little, blinking several times. “I am?”

“Daddy- Daddy always said you-you-you—when you came back—yeah when you came back—Daddy said you and your auntie would _maybe_ be coming to live with us.” Morgan pressed her lips to the side in the sort of cute pout only a kid could manage. “When daddy says maybe, he means yes! Unlike mommy—when she says maybe, it means no.”

Fondness spiked Peter’s heart, painful and yet eternally glad to be having such a conversation. Although he’d wanted to ask Pepper about everything in between the Snap and the Blip, he knew he couldn’t; that it was too raw; that it was too much. The thought sent a horrid image straight into the front of his consciousness: the last few moments of Tony’s life, his last few gasps, his look of anguished peace surrounded by his wife, his best friend, and Peter himself.

He had so much left to do—so many more years he needed to live. He had deserved a chance to rest after everything; he shouldn’t have- He shouldn’t have _died_.

“Peter?”

Peter broke out of his thoughts, suddenly aware of the tears streaking down his cheeks. He sniffled, letting out a calming breath, and then said, “I’m sorry, Morgan. I-I’m just- Oh.” Brushing a hand through his hair, he let out another shuddering gasp and said, “It’s not fair of me to be like this—I’m sorry, Morgan.”

What wasn’t fair was any of this—none of this was fair. It wasn’t fair Morgan no longer had a father; it wasn’t fair Pepper no longer had a husband—It wasn’t fair the _world_ no longer had Tony Stark.

Dammit.

Peter was about to make his excuses, when he felt the softest tug on his sweater. Through the haze of his tears, he saw Morgan had crept towards him, her small hands outstretched to share his pain—her tears were smaller than his, droplets, but they raced down her cheeks matching speed with Peter’s. “Oh, Morgan,” Peter shushed, choked up, as he swallowed around the paining lump in his throat and attempted some degree of console he himself was fully incapable of receiving.

He bent down and gathered her into his arms, wrapping around her securely as he took a seat on her bed, holding her against him. “Hey, hey—Morgan,” Peter sniffled, unrolling his sweater sleeve to wipe her tears and then his own. “Hey—not like this. It wasn’t meant to be like this.” He brought her close, her small arms wrapping around his neck, and she cried into his shoulder, fingers tensing and un-tensing painfully in the curls of his lengthy hair.

After a few minutes spent crying together, Peter leant forwards and settled his chin on top of her unruly locks. “I messed up,” Peter confessed, softly, into their shared minute of silence.

Morgan replied damply, whispering into his ear, “Daddy said you did that a lot.”

Peter broke out into teary chuckles, pulling back to ruffle her hair. “He’s right. He was... He was always right.”

But Morgan, obviously, wasn’t done. Through her tears and hiccups she started to proclaim, “Daddy said you chased after bad people, and you fought a vulture, and you tried to—to rescue a whole boat of people! And, and you snuck into space and crashed a giant donut!” Her eyes widened. “And you stole Uncle Steve’s sledge!”

A smile upturned Peter’s shivering lips. “Uncle Steve’s sledge?”

Morgan nodded astutely. “But those weren’t times you messed up.” She narrowed a look at him, sucked in her lips and stared with old eyes; with eyes already intelligent enough to impart wisdom beyond her years. “Those were times you learned.”

Peter was touched. He hadn’t thought Tony would speak about him so much to Morgan, if at all, but to hear he hadn’t been forgotten for all those years was everything he needed to know. “Thanks Morgan.” Pushing back her hair, Peter pressed a feather-light kiss to her forehead. “I wish I knew some stories about you, but I guess there’s plenty of time for me to witness some of your infamous antics.”

Morgan gaped at him. “How do you know about those?” she whined in horror.

He grinned through his sadness. “You just confirmed it.” Peter started to ruffle her hair, but froze when he heard formidable footsteps coming up the staircase. Searching out Morgan’s alarm clock, Peter peered at the hands of the cutesy _My Little Pony_ clock-face and winced. “Oops. It’s past your bedtime, I think.”

“It was past my bedtime when you came in, actually,” Morgan giggled, wiggling out of Peter’s grip to slip beneath her covers. She tugged them, kicking Peter with her foot, and then snuggled down under the plush blanket when he moved. “Can you tell me a story?”

Peter glanced from Morgan’s face to the door, the footsteps nearing the top of the staircase, and he casually settled back on the bed, thinking it better than standing about awkwardly. “I’m not all that good at stories,” he confessed, hand to his heart.

“I am!” Morgan replied, squealing with excitement. “I’ll tell you a story.”

“Morgan-” Peter began, hearing the steps falter in the hallway. “That’s nice, but you need to go to sleep, now, so you can be a little horror in the morning.” _Wait, can you call kids little horrors these days? Is that discriminatory?_

Morgan pouted at him. “I won’t fall asleep until I’ve had my story. Daddy always told me stories!”

Peter raised his palms and said, “Well, OK. I won’t argue with that. Uh, why don’t you tell me the story, then?” He fake-yawned, but it turned into a real yawn a moment later. “Maybe I’ll fall asleep.”

Laughing, sounding much too awake for this time of night, Morgan nodded, “OK.” She settled in her bed, sitting against her several pillows. Her eyes sparkled in the stars of her room and she gently prodded her covers. “One day, I snuck into daddy’s workshop to see what he was doing, and he was working on, on mommy’s suit. He found me and we went to have juice pops.

“I asked him about—oh, about you! And he told me you once blew up his lab-ro-tory trying to make a school project thingo!” She giggled, rolling back and forth under her duvet trying to get comfortable. “I asked if I could blow up something, and he said ‘ _No! Just one of my kids giving me grey hairs is enough, lil’ Miss!_ ’” Her imitation of Tony was absolutely spot-on. “And that was the day I learned you were my big brother! Big brother Peter!”

As Morgan started to exhaust herself with laughter, Peter stared at her with astonishment. He strained his gaping mouth into a smile, inhaling to ward off the fresh tears threatening to eclipse his eyes again. “That was a great story, Morgan,” Peter shushed her, helping settle her under the covers as the door opened slightly. He chose to ignore it, with Morgan’s eyes staring at him, and added, “A story within a story. Clever.”

“Are you tired, now?” Morgan asked, reaching for her cuddly toys. She yawned, raising the back of her hand to cover and wipe her mouth. “I’m tired, now.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ there, too,” Peter replied, stroking the hair away from her eyes. “Thanks for telling me a story, Morgan.”

Smiling through her exhaustion, Morgan said, “You know what would make this even better? Juice pops.”

Peter chuckled, reaching over to pull the cord on her nightlight. “Tomorrow, OK?”

She nodded, hair fluffing against her pillow. “You gonna be here tomorrow?”

“All day,” Peter promised. He patted her hands, standing up to pull the duvet over her a little more. “Sleep well, Morgan.” Turning to the doorway, as it slit open a little more to reveal Pepper’s docile, smiling expression, Peter raised his palms and prepared to leave when he heard Morgan call out-

“Peter?”

Through the dark, Peter made out her smile and the gentle slope of her face smushed against the pillow. Her eyes – thankfully – were closed. “Yeah?”

“I love you, like, a ton!” Morgan giggled, bringing a hand up to grin into the cup of her palm. “Like, _I love you 3000!_ ”

Another round of tears budded in Peter’s eyes and he looked from Morgan to Pepper, to see her mouthing a ‘Wow!’ to him. Peter inhaled, unable to stop from smiling, and replied through the patched dark of the bedroom, “I love you 3000, too, Morgan.”

Pepper stepped away, allowing him exit, and he slipped out into the bright hallway, the light dazzling him after the subdued, starry luminosity of Morgan’s room. Peter gestured towards the door, silently asking whether she was going in, but she shook her head. “I just came to check up on her,” said Pepper once the door was shut. “It’s been... Well, it’s been a hard day for everyone.”

Peter’s face dropped into a frown. “Yea-yeah. It-it has.” Following her back along the hallway, toward the staircase, Peter apologised for intruding on Morgan when she should have been asleep. “I just wanted to go and meet her. Probably could have waited until morning.”

“No, it couldn’t have,” Pepper replied. She paused at the top of the stairs, raising a hand to rest on Peter’s shoulder. “Morgan has waited a long time to meet you.” She broke off, opened her mouth, shut it again, and shook her head. Raising her other hand, Pepper dragged Peter around until they were face-to-face and smiled at him, the uplift of her lip reaching her searching eyes as they roamed over his features. “I-, I’m sorry. You’re just... so much like him, Peter.”

Peter let out a shaky laugh, raising a hand to wipe his eyes. When the tears didn’t stop, and he started to babble out half-formed words, Pepper drew him into a hug, her hand reaching up to curl in his hair. “He was so proud of you, and all those years... He never stopped, you know; he never stopped talking about you, thinking about you—He had so many grand ideas about who you’d become if only we could get you back.” Her voice trembled. “He was- you should have seen him, when he discovered it; the time travel stupidity: he had a way to get you back and he...” Pulling back, flicking her hair away, Pepper laughed, “He told me how much you’d hate him because when he got you back he- he-, he wasn’t going to let you go again.

You were a son to him, Peter.” Pepper took his face and pressed a damp kiss to his forehead. “He loved you so much!”

Peter collapsed into tears, wheezing through each and every breath. Pepper’s hand ran over his head, gentling him, cuddling him, shushing and telling him all was OK, everything was all right—everything _would be_ all right. For now, though, he cried; he allowed himself the mercy of the choked emotion and gave in to what he’d repressed since the funeral, hiccupping until his head hurt and his throat hurt and his heart hurt and-

Peter allowed himself to be guided down the staircase and into the dimly-lit kitchen, where Pepper seated him at the table. He glanced around, piecing together where everyone had gone, and asked through his sniffles, “Where’s May?”

“She’s outside with Happy,” Pepper told him, drying her eyes. She filled water in the kettle, and set it to boil.

“With Happy?” Peter asked, picturing it, and then choosing not to. Folding his arms and nudging them onto the table, Peter muttered against the back of his wrist, “Good luck to him.”

Pepper tittered, and then all was silent. A few minutes later, she placed down a mug of cocoa in front of Peter and, in the following heartbeat, slid a small parcel across to him.

Peter sat up, yawning into his elbow, and stared curiously at the object as he took his drink with a mumbled thank you. “What’s that?” he asked, carefully reaching for it with shivering fingers.

“It’s yours, if you want it,” Pepper said, gathering her own mug of something—something like herb tea to settle down for the night. “It was Tony’s. He... Well... It meant a lot to him, to have it. He asked me... if something happened, he asked me to give it to you.” Sweeping past Peter, she settled a hand on his shoulder, bent down, kissed his hair and said, “Sleep well, Peter. Breakfast is at seven.”

“Thanks, Pepper,” Peter replied, watching her depart to the staircase and, with a last long sigh, begin to climb upwards to her bedroom. He stared after her, breath caught in his throat, before settling his expression into a frown. Alone in the silent kitchen, Peter raised his eyes to the ceiling and quietly called out, “FRIDAY?”

He waited a minute, his heart beating out painfully, until the silence gripped at his head and he picked himself out of the chair, thinking to retire to- somewhere. Peter pursed his lips and glanced around the open space of the living room. “FRIDAY, I... I don’t know if you’re... I don’t... FRI, do you know where I’m sleeping? I didn’t see my name on any of the outer cabins earlier...” He’d checked the list and the map a couple of times, to make sure, and he knew where Aunt May was staying—maybe he was meant to go there? He probably should have asked, but it had never felt like the right time.

To his left, suddenly, a worktable lit up. Peter, gripping his cocoa in one hand and the package in the other, startled from the sudden blue glow, but quickly assumed its safety. Walking close, understanding FRIDAY was giving no audio command, Peter startled at seeing a schematic of the cabin. A small spider icon was bobbing up and down above one of the rooms, indicting he was-

He was sleeping... He had a room? In the cabin?

Peter raised his eyes to the ceiling, mouth gaping open, and said, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Taking his leave of the downstairs, the lights automatically switching off, Peter climbed the stairs for the second time that evening and crept along the hallway. Ahead of him, a light switched on above one of the doors and Peter stepped up to it, touching the dark paintwork. Slowly, with a glance back down the hallway, Peter twisted the doorknob.

It opened under his touch and Peter held his breath as the room blinked into life before him. He stared, open-mouthed, at the personalised bedroom. It was a similar size to Morgan’s, painted in tidal blues, blushing reds and muting whites. Instead of toys, dozens of _LEGO_ sets were stacked neatly on brazen black bookshelves along one wall, and beside those were large hardcover volumes of everything from MIT-level manuscripts to beautiful _Folios_ of adventure and intrigue.

He shut the door and walked across to the bed, touching the cover; it was clean, without any layer of dust he might have thought plausible. Peter set his cocoa down on the bedside table, along with the package Pepper had given him, and turned to the rest of the room. It didn’t have a window, but a large skylight overhead bathed the room in pale moonlight. Peter walked around the bed, stepping through puddles of the moon scattered by trees, and towards the dark desk in the corner where unopened boxes had been piled up and left.

Peter easily broke the tape on one, pulling it back to reveal a box of new this and that; some clothes, some books, a backpack. He turned the box around, searching, and saw it was dated only a week or so prior.

So, did that mean...

Peter left the opened box and its currently-unopened associates on his desk, walking back to his bed in a trance. He felt the duvet again, slid his hand under, felt the weight of it and nearly collapsed into another bout of tears from the warmth it visibly promised his constant chill-stricken life. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Peter sat down on the bed and drew his cocoa into his hands, downing nearly all of it in one go to resist from falling inside the black of his emotions.

Beside him, the small package beckoned and Peter held his breath as he set the mug down and reached for it, bringing it into his lap. Careful with his strength, shaking from nerves, Peter tore one side of the packaging and felt the – photo-frame. His wide eyes lessened slightly, and then grew wider again when he pulled out the photo and stared down at it.

Him and Tony. The stupid internship photo. _Is this... This has to be... He kept this?_ thought Peter, pushing the packaging to one side to bring the photo up to his face. He stared at himself beside Tony, remembered how he’d felt that day, and drew in a shuddering breath as he heard the laughter through the memories of himself, Tony and Happy as they’d conducted the silly photo shoot.

Pulling his feet on to the bed, Peter placed the framed photo in front of him and took his cocoa, drinking the last of it as he sought out chocolaty confidence. Clearing his throat, Peter stared at Tony and began, “Hey, so... At the battle, we didn’t get to talk – not really; I mean, you sorta just—you sorta just stared at me, and then hugged me, and.” He shut up, swallowed. “It was nice. You hugging me, I mean; not... Not what came after...”

Running a hand through his hair in some nervous habit he’d picked up from somewhere, Peter said into the still, silent air of the room, “So, I met Morgan. She’s... She’s great. She’s like you. She said- well, she said a lot of stuff I’d have loved to ask you about—the whole living here with you guys thing, the big brother thing, the...” He gestured around the space, clearing his choked throat again. “The room thing. I mean, this is... too much.” Closing his eyes at the assault of memories pressuring against him, Peter breathed. His fingers found the photo again, bringing it up to his heart. “I- I’m gonna... I’m gonna...”

Suddenly, a shock of blue light illuminated from the back of the frame and Peter startled, staring wide-eyed as a hologram flickered to life at the end of his bed. He gaped at the projected image of Tony standing before him like a futuristic ghost. Too shocked to speak, Peter searched out the small device on the back of the frame, realising with abandoned alarm it was a pre-recorded message, presumably, for him.

“Hey, Pete,” said Tony, looking up. He slipped his hands into his pockets, taking a step this and that way. “I thought I’d record something – just in case. I’ve done the same for a few other people, so...” He let out a long breath, his holographic eyes searching whatever had been behind the camera. “Feel I should impart some age-old wisdom, father to son kinda deal.” Tony visibly swallowed at his own wording, letting out a light chuckle afterwards. “But I don’t wanna make this come across as cheap, like in those _Star Trek_ movies you always reference.”

“ _Star Wars_ ,” Peter idly corrected, his voice pitched awkwardly.

“No clue,” Tony laughed, as though he knew Peter would have a snarky reply. “Anyway. I, uh, I discovered time travel—for you, I should clarify. I mean, Cap sorta helped – as much as Cap can, anyway—Ugh, I’m coming across all kinds of muddled right now. Excuse me.” The hologram faded a little, and then flashed back into action, as if Tony had needed a second to figure out his thoughts, “So, I don’t know when you’ll see this but I hope it won’t be too long. I’m not... I’m not really—well, a lot of stuff can go wrong and I need to cover my ass a bit so, honestly, I’m a little stuck on what to say, kid. There’s some stuff – for you – I’ve left, if tall, dark and creepy comes for me.”

Tony crossed his arms. “I’m not going to go into details, but it’s all pretty cool, as I think you’d say.” He shrugged, his lungs collapsing with a long sigh. “I guess I just wanna say – oh, lordy – I mean, Pete, give an old fool a break OK?” Tony took a breath, and then another. “If anything happens, and I don’t get to say it—Pete, I’m proud of you. Like, I am _so_ proud of you, kid. You’re amazing, you’re—you’re everything, really, is my point...” Tony’s eyes trailed off to the edge of the shot. “I hope, one day, you’ll understand what I’m trying here to do... My dad, he left a film for me.” Touching his arc reactor, indicating it, Tony continued, “And I guess I’m trying to do something similar, but I’m- I’m not Howard.” He raised his eyes. “Spiderling...”

Peter watched Tony’s hologram run his fingers through his hair, the dark brown dashed with grey. “Tony,” Peter muttered, but the hologram didn’t react. “I-... I understand.” He stared at the conflict so evident in Tony’s eyes, and, with slim regret, Peter pressed the device on the back of the frame just as Tony said-

“Kid, I love you.”

Tears budded in Peter’s eyes as the hologram vanished mid-word. He sat in the damning, judgemental silence and inhaled, content – for tonight – to be left with just the knowledge that Tony had loved him, dearly, and cared deeply for him; had done all he could, everything in his power, to provide for Peter, and be there for him.

Leaning back against his pillows, Peter stared up at the ceiling. He hugged the photo to his heart, minding the device, and stretched out his legs. Calming the nervous racket of his head, Peter said, “I’m gonna make you so proud of me, Mr. Stark—Tony.” His eyes slid shut again, and he reached over to carefully set the photo on the bedside table, illuminated by the gentle light of the moon.

“Thank you, for everything. I- You—You were like a dad to me, if it wasn’t obvious – Ned said it was, uh, obvious.” Peter turned his head into the pillow and cried not because he was sad, but because of the memories and the laughter, the conversations and the midnight snacks. He smiled for having met Morgan, for knowing she’d be in his life, and he raised a hand to his heart, set it there, and whispered into his bedroom, “We’ll take care of each other, Tony.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Bonus** :
>
>> “Kid, I love you.”
>> 
>> “And I just want to say—You’re the best of us. Truly. You’re everything the world needs, right now, and everything I could ever have wanted in a son.” Tony smiled lopsidedly, taking out his sunglasses, and chucking them across the room. “Just remember: You’re Peter Parker. Believe that, and there’s nothing you can’t do.”
>> 
>> Moving towards his camera, Tony stared at the stupid internship photo he’d had framed for the last few years, marvelling at the life in Peter’s eyes. He wiped away his tears and said, “See ya, kid.”
> 
> Thank you for reading ! Stay safe lovelies


End file.
